


To Make a House a Home

by AppleScentedLazers



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Aged-Up Character(s), Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Kwan's got his eye on Dash 👀, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26778775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleScentedLazers/pseuds/AppleScentedLazers
Summary: AU in which Jack, Maddie, and Jazz Fenton didn't survive the portal explosion, leaving Danny a half ghost and alone.Now? He just wants to live out his half-life in peace.Samantha Manson moves to a haunted Amity Park after a particularly nasty break-up, only to find her new home 'Fenton Works' isn't as empty as it seems.Now? The last thing on her mind is romance.Maybe neither of them get what they want in the end, but perhaps—together—they can find something unexpected along the way.
Relationships: Danny Fenton/Sam Manson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	1. In Which Everything Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I posted this fic on Ao3 previously, but decided to change chapter sizes/some dialogue, so I deleted the story and did some editing!
> 
> Sorry if you were already a reader :/ I hate to pull the rug out from under y'all like that. Please don't kill me?
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! If you have any questions (or just want to yell at me for re-starting) I'll answer ASAP :P

A tear stained boy stumbled down a set of steps, scientific equipment surrounding him as he ventured lower and lower beneath his house.

Swiping angrily at his eyes with trembling hands, he beelined straight for the hole in the far wall, black and yellow striped tape surrounding it. 

They had just made fun of him for crying. Called him weak. He sniffed, standing up straighter as he stared into the darkness on the other side. He could do this. He had to. 

Wiping the blood from his split lip, he weaved around the bundles of chaotically tossed cord snaking across the floor and crossed over the line. After twenty or so steps, the suffocating black was all he could see.

Glancing back, he saw that the fluorescent lights of his parent’s lab were a long way off, nothing but a round pinprick. He braved a few more steps until even they had disappeared, his sneakers squeaking loudly in the smothering silence.

This would show them, prove he wasn’t what they thought he was. They hadn’t believed he would ever go in; look at him now.

( _And maybe_ , a softer, quieter part of his mind whispered, _maybe he wouldn’t ever have to come out_ ). 

Moving forward again, his clumsy teenage feet suddenly caught on one of the stray wires and he was falling, the pit of his stomach weightless. Gasping, his hands flailed for something, anything, to hold him up. To support him.

The button clacked and the walls hummed, green energy beginning to build as the boy inside began to scream.

All this you know, all this you expected.

What you may not have expected, however, was the malfunction.

A miscalculation in the timeline, a twisted string of fate. Whatever you want to call it. 

The portal exploded, sending a massive shockwave throughout the house and shaking the very city to its foundations. An entirely new dimension becoming tethered to their own.  
The three other lifeforms in the house crumbled. Father, mother, and daughter, now gone. 

The rest of the house, all but the lab, remained untouched. 

Only later, when a crying, black and white form crawled out from under the wreckage of his parent’s equipment, were the events of the accident made clear.

An abandoned teal jumpsuit and familiar ruby-lensed goggles rested on a pile of dust, a much larger jumpsuit coloured like a traffic cone beside it.

Later, when he finally gained enough strength to move, he would find an all too familiar blue headband atop a mountain of ash in front of the fridge.

For now, the black and white form clutched the abandoned jumpsuits tight as he cried, screamed, begged.

None of it made much difference.

16 YERAS LATER

Someone was poking her in the eye and if they didn’t stop _right now_ she was going to tear their fingers off and stick them up their—

“Momma? Momma! Wake up!”

Thirty-year old Samantha Manson cracked open a single violet eye, narrowing it at the little girl harassing her.

Two small blue eyes bravely met her own, a spray of freckles dancing on the rounded nose and cheeks beneath them, “Momma!”

“What, gremlin child?” Sam growled out, pulling the blanket over her head and dislodging her daughter in the process. 

The girl giggled, fingers poking at the downy hotel covers were her mother lay in burrito form. “We going house searching, remember?” 

The woman sat up, mouth slack with surprise, “What time is it?” She quickly hopped off the bed, throwing her pajamas off and desperately rooting through her suitcase for something presentable. 

“It is nine, two, four.” The girl read off the hotel’s digital clock proudly before beginning to jump up and down on the bed, “That’s when you said to wake momma up!”

Sam pulled a slightly cleaner than the rest black hoodie over her head, “Thanks, little bean.” She paused suddenly, gasping in mock surprise at her daughter’s state of dress. “But how am I going to take you with me if you’re wearing your pjs?”

The girl took a minute to look thoroughly scandalized before rushing to her own little travel bag, yanking out her entire arsenal of brightly coloured clothes. “Tutu today, momma?”

“I don’t see why not,” Sam called from the bathroom, running a brush through her shoulder length hair before pulling up the top half and tying it.

Her whirlwind of a daughter appeared before her again, wearing a sequined green top, pink tutu, and neon yellow tights. “Ready!”

“Teeth,” Sam chided, applying a bit of mascara to her lashes. 

The walking fashion disaster groaned, “Do I have toooo?”

“Do you want real teeth when you’re older?”

“No!”

Sam covered her chuckle with a scoff, “Too bad, brush anyway.”

“Fine.”

Once the pair were ready to go, respective hygiene rituals complete, they chaotically packed the rest of the room until both suitcases were stuffed to their bursting point. 

“Are you sure you have everything?” Sam, well versed with her offspring’s habit off leaving things behind, knelt under the bed to double check. “I think I see a familiar shape under there, could it be—”

“Professor Bazooka!” The girl shrieked loudly before worming under the bed, her tutu flat against the floor. “I almost lost him again.”

She soon popped back into view, a hideously deformed stuffed rabbit in her grasp. Years ago, it had lost one of its glinting red eyes and, to stave her child’s tears, Sam had been forced to construct an eyepatch. Its fur was a greasy cream colour, unable to make up its mind between white and grunge yellow, and it reeked no matter how many times she washed it. All in all, she hated it.

But her daughter loved it, so Sam took it in stride. If the girl most precious to her in all the world decided the rabbit was a part of their family, then Professor Bazooka stayed.

That being said, she occasionally still wished for the stuffed animal’s slow and violent demise.

After checking out of the hotel and handing in their key cards, they made their way towards a faded Volkswagen beetle, its yellow paint lacking any semblance of past lustre.

“I missed Carl,” The girl hugged the car, her tiny arms barely managing to encompass more than two feet of the vehicle’s hood.

Sam smiled softly at the sight before starting up the car, quickly typing the desired address into her phone, “Me too.”

The clinical British voice of Maps lead them through the winding small town streets, the only inhabitants out and about being retired joggers. Her daughter’s gaze was glued to the window in the back seat, wide eyes taking in every passing house. 

“Will it look like that one?” The girl asked, pointing at a large, three story masterpiece.

Sam winced as she took a turn, the voice informing her that their destination was on the left. “I’m not sure, bean.”

They pulled up to the only real estate office in Amity, located in a large business lot with carefully trimmed shrubs guiding them to the front doors.

The interior was dimly lit, odd decorations covering every surface. Slipping her child’s hand into her own, Sam made her way towards the front desk with hesitant steps.

“I’m here for the ten thirty meeting with, uh,” She double checked her slip of paper. “Mrs. Baxter?”

The woman at the front desk smiled at her, revealing blindingly white teeth, “Of course, you can head right in. Would your daughter like to stay out here?”

The girl’s grip on her mother’s hand tightened as she slipped behind Sam’s back, casting a distrustful look at the woman. “Thanks, but she’ll come with me.”

“Alrighty then, follow me this way please.” The woman was deceptively tall when she rose from her desk chair, three-inch heels adding to the affect.

She led them down a narrow hallway towards the last door on the left, giving them a wave before heading back the way they’d came, stilettos clicking on the tile.

Sam stared at the door handle and felt the distance between it and her lengthen, stretching until it was no longer within her reach. Her hand hesitated, a slight tremor wracking it as she considered what opening this door could entail.

“It’s not gonna bite you, momma.” 

That was all the encouragement she needed; there was no way she was going to be act like a coward in front of her daughter. It was time to move on. “Thanks, bean.”

The door popped open with a click and, together, mother and daughter filed inside, not looking back as it closed behind them.

Little did they know, that single action had just changed their lives forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update every Sunday (unless something crazy happens..and this is 2020, so chances are high).
> 
> Hope this made sense! I know Sam's daughter is technically an OC and nobody likes those (me included), but I promise she'll have a very small part in the story :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! See ya next week!!
> 
> ~ASL


	2. In Which A Real Estate Agent Tells Ghost Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author posts a really long chapter to make up for their absence and we meet Dash's mom.

The room they stepped into was plain: dark grey walls, light grey desk, and sparse white decals. Sitting behind the desk was a woman, her lips twisted into the semblance of a welcoming smile.

“Good morning,” She stood up, gesturing to the single chair in front of her desk. “You must be Mrs. Manson.”

Sam nodded, shaking the woman’s outstretched hand before sitting down, positioning her daughter in her lap, “Yes, and this little one is Mackenzie.”

“Mack,” The girl muttered, too low for the woman too hear.

“What a pretty name!” She sat back behind her desk, somehow managing to sit despite her rigid pencil skirt. “How old are you, Mackenzie?”

Mackenzie—Mack—hid her face in her mother’s sweater, sticking up eight of her stocky fingers.

“Almost a lady, then,” The woman placed a file on the desk and flipped it opening, thumbing through and pulling out a stack of papers. “After we last spoke on the phone, I managed to make a list of all the Amity homes falling within your budget.” She spread out the images, four in total, and began pointing to them individually.

“This one’s quite old,” The one she pointed to looked ancient, a low-lying bungalow with whitewashed outer walls. “But has a very sturdy foundation. Given time and work, it could be up to living standards in no time.”

“Living standards?” Sam inquired, leaning forward so Mack could closely investigate the picture.

“The previous owner was a ninety-year-old woman who sold to move out to a warmer climate. Arthritis, poor soul.”

Sam nodded in, hoping the action held more sympathy then she was feeling.

“Because of her age, she didn’t work much on it. There’s multiple leaks and an issue with the plumbing, as well as the basement being unfinished, but it’s located in a wonderful neighborhood.” She pulled out some interior photos, “Right next to an elementary school, too.”

Her daughter, finished examining the photos, yanked softly on her worn sweater sleeve, shaking her head minutely.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Baxter, but we’re looking for something we can move into right away. Renovations just aren’t in the money scheme for us.”

The woman nodded her understanding, blonde hair bobbing precariously at the top of her head where it was pinned, “The next one is in practically perfect condition; nearly brand new by Amity standards.”

It was truly a beautiful house, pale yellow siding with white trim and trough. The lawn out front was riddled with wildflowers and long grass, a small maple tree bearing large leaves towards the sun. The interior photos were even better.

It was perfect. Too perfect.

Just by looking at it Sam could tell it exceeded their low, practically non-existent, budget. “How much?”

The woman pointed to the home’s file and Sam’s eyes bulged. It was astronomically out of their price rang. Not too bad by normal financial standards, but way out of hers.

“It’s a bit out of our price range,” She tried not to squirm as the words left her mouth, eyeing the expensive pearls around the real estate agent’s neck warily. “And by a bit I mean a lot.”

The woman paused, the business-like mask falling away from her face. “Can I be real with you, Mrs. Manson?”

“Call me Sam, and of course you can.”

“Alright Sam, this is one of the cheapest one’s we have on file. I can’t see you purchasing anything like what you’re looking for with your current budget.” She sighed, rubbing at her forehead before slipping the pictures back into their file, “I really am sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

The ebony glanced down at her daughter and felt her heart constrict at the broken look on the girl’s face. Her blue eyes were staring hopelessly at the closed file, tiny crystalline tears forming in their depths.

Mack needed this, needed stability. Sam couldn’t drag her from apartment to apartment, never having a place to truly call home.

Placing her arm determinedly on the desk, she fixed her gaze on the Baxter woman’s face, scrutinizing every inch of it.

Just as the woman began to look uncomfortable, Sam spoke,

“Look, we really want to make things work here. I recently got out of a very messy divorce and we just want to start over, but I can’t do that if I don’t have somewhere to settle down. So please, is there anything you might have missed? Anything you might be leaving out?”

The woman hesitated, the wrinkles on her face becoming more prominent the longer she warred internally. “Well, there is one that we don’t even advertise anymore. It’s been on file for so long but…” She slid back in her chair and opened one of the drawers closest to the floor, pulling out a single paperclipped stack of photos. “These are the most recent ones; taken about three years ago, I think.”

Curious, Sam picked up the stack and carefully examined them. It was a two-story red brick house with six large windows, boarded up from the inside, on the front exterior. Dark vines laced across the brick, something that looked like flowers blooming amongst their foliage.

The lawn was unkempt and the grass wild, riddled with weeds, while the cracked drive leading up to the house betrayed its age. There were a few trees popping up on the houses left in what looked like the ruins of the next-door house, its foundations barely visible among the literal forest that seemed to be growing over it.

“What happened to the next-door neighbours?” Sam inquired curiously, passing the photo to Mack so she could look at it.

Mrs. Baxter fiddled nervously with one of her monogramed pens, paying no mind to the ink coating her fingertips. “They moved soon after the initial owners…left.”

Alarm bells began to ring in the back of Sam’s brain, their sound echoing throughout her skull. That newest fact, coupled with Mrs. Baxter’s suspicious behaviour, was enough for her writer’s curiosity to pique. “What do you mean ‘left’?”

Accepting the inevitable, the woman sighed, “The previous owners were scientists, invested in the exploration of the paranormal.”

Sam nodded her understanding, trying to prompt the woman.

“Sixteen years ago, we can only guess there was some kind of accident. The entire family disappeared.”

The ebony’s eyes widened considerably at this news, “Care to explain?”

“I can’t,” She shook her head. “No one knows what happened. Their neighbours, at the time, reported an explosion of sorts. That wasn’t abnormal for them, actually, who knows what went on in that house, but there was something more.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “Wailing.”

Sam arched a dark brow skeptically, “Wailing.”

“I lived two houses down, dear, trust me. There was definitely wailing.” Her tone was serious, grim. Sam couldn’t help but find herself believing it. “By the time the police arrived there was no sign of any of them. Just an empty house.”

There was still something she didn’t understand, something that wasn’t adding up. “Why didn’t anyone buy it, then? If this all happened sixteen years ago, what’s the catch?”

“Ah,” The woman shifted, casting a cautious eye to the young girl who was listening eagerly from her mother’s lap. “Once the building code restrictions had been enforced and the…structure removed from the top, we put the house on the market.”

“Structures?” Sam glanced at the photograph, “I don’t see any structures on top. Just a normal roof.” There was indeed only a normal roof, covered in faded, smoky gray shingles.

“The previous owners, because of their peculiar hobby, had put multiple unsanctioned structures of unknown purpose on the top of their home, none of which followed Amity regulation.” A bemused smile twisted the corner of her lips, her eyes glazing over as if she were recalling something. “I don’t know how they got away with it; they were certainly a family to be reckoned with.”

“Did you know them personally?” Sam asked softly, hoping her question wasn’t too personal.

“Everyone knew them personally,” The smile faded somewhat, “No one knows how long they lived there, but they were a part of Amity. My son went to school with their youngest; he was absolutely broken by his death.”

“You said death that time, not disappearance.”

“It is assumed that they passed in the explosion, for no one saw them leave and their assault vehicle was still in the garage.”

Sam’s mind was temporary snagged by the woman’s casual mention of an _assault vehicle_ , but decided not to dwell on it. “What happened when you sold the house?”

The woman winced, “I organized for a team to gut the house as the previous owners’ had no close family willing to do so, but they ran out screaming.” She met Sam’s eyes with her own. “They claimed the house was haunted.”

The younger woman didn’t need to voice her disbelief for the other to see it. “And you’re certain they weren’t just pulling a prank?”

“I don’t know what it is they saw. Every team I sent in after that reported the same thing: floating objects, glowing eyes, horrible screams. Whether it was true or not, word quickly spread that the house’s previous inhabitants had never left, that they’re paranormal deaths lead to the town’s awakening.”

This was all starting to sound a little too horror-esque to Sam, “Awakening?”

Mrs. Baxter looked surprised, shocked even, “So you haven’t seen any yet?”

All these questions where beginning to wear on Sam’s tired mind; she just wanted a house. “Seen any what?”

“Nothing,” Mrs. Baxter murmured in a tone that very much implied the opposite. “Amity just has different pests then other small towns. A little more exotic, shall we say.”

Had this woman been hitting the happy brownies? Because hallucinogens were the only plausible explanation for this wild narrative. “I’ll buy it.”

The woman’s tongue practically fell out of her mouth in her shock, “But I just told you—”

“For such a haunted house, you’ll be lowering the prize considerably, right?” To be clear, Sam believed in no such thing as ghosts. Whatever those moving workers had seen wasn’t supernatural or occult, _but_ if their ridiculous fantasies lowered the price…

“I mean, this house has probably been a thorn in your side for awhile now, sixteen years is a long time.”

Mrs. Baxter nodded her head, eyeing the dusty file with a look of disgust. “Once the story spread that it was haunted, no one wanted to live near it, let alone in it. When the next-door neighbours moved across town, that was the last straw.”

Perfect. “So how about I take it off your hands for, I don’t know, say half of my original budget?”

At the mention of money, the shrewd glint from earlier was back in the woman’s gaze, “Full budget.”

“Three fourths, take it or leave it.”

Without hesitating the woman smiled, revealing gleaming teeth, “Deal.”

They shook on it, Mack excitedly holding the file to her chest, “Do we have a house now, momma?”

“We most certainly do,” Sam scooped her up, ignoring the way the tutu fanned out around her. “Do you want to come with us to open it up?” She asked the real estate woman.

Mrs. Baxter paled considerably and shook her head, pulling out the key and quickly passing it to her, “That won’t be necessary, I assume you’ll send me the money?”

“Correct.” Sam opened the door, staring at the stylized ‘F’ engraved on the key’s head, “What does the ‘F’ stand for?”

The woman’s victorious smile drooped somewhat in the corners, “Fenton. It was their last name.”

After a short pause where Sam figured there was something she was supposed to say in this scenario, something appropriate, she settled for a simple, “Uh, thanks,” and hightailed it out of there.

As the door closed behind the mother and daughter, Mrs. Baxter eased herself back into the chair without taking her eyes off the closed door. “Good luck in Amity, Sam. You’ll need it.”

Oblivious to the woman’s advice, the two exited the building and headed towards the beaten-up Volkswagen, massive smiles on both of their faces.

For their story had just truly begun.

* * *

The street that their new house was on—Sam could still hardly believe it was actually theirs—didn’t look like it had suffered a ‘paranormal’ accident sixteen years ago.

In fact, it looked normal. Each house unique, their lawns trimmed to perfection, varying degrees of successful flower beds blooming in their fronts. There weren’t any kids out playing but it was almost noon on a Friday, so they were likely in school.

The closer they got to their house the more Mack bounced in the back seat, her long raven locks a tangled mess. Professor Bazooka was clenched tightly in her grip.

She rolled to a stop by the curb, hesitant to pull up to the garage after hearing about the assault vehicle it supposedly harboured. “Here we are.”

Mack was out the door and down the driveway so fast she became a pink-and-yellow blur, her tiny legs pounding the pavement.

“Mack!” Sam called, propping open the trunk, “You need your stuff.”

The girl was back in a flash, grabbing her Star Wars themed suitcase and lugging it over the cracked driveway up to the door, “Hurry up, momma! Professor Bazooka wants inside!”

“Darn needy stuffed rabbit,” She muttered under her breath, pulling her own suitcase and backpack out. She hadn’t brought much with her: just her books, a couple pairs of clothes, and her precious notebooks. Chris hadn’t let her take much. “I’m coming!”

As she wheeled her suitcase over the weedy drive, deftly steering it around the many potholes riddling the concrete, she glanced up at their new home curiously.

It was tall rectangle, more vines than in the pictures hanging from its brick surface. The windows were streaked with bird feces and the lawn was a tangled jungle of greenery. It was beautiful.

The door was a weather-beaten navy blue, paint peeling off it in long strips. Hanging to the right was a rusted mailbox, a barely discernible ‘Fenton Works’ engraved into the metal.

“Fenton Works, huh.” She stared up at the building again, a smile blooming on her features. “It oddly still suits it.”

“I don’t _care_ what suits it!” Mack was trembling with poorly repressed excitement, “I want to explore!”

“Okay, okay, I’m opening it. Reign in your horses,” She stuck the key in and turned it, wincing when the action produced a grinding sound. Once unlocked, she shoved her hip up against it and pushed until it popped open, swinging inwards on its hinges with a groan.

Untouched air streamed out towards them, strong enough to ruffle Sam’s hair. It was almost as if the house was…exhaling.

She shook her head; that was ridiculous. Clearly Mrs. Baxter’s stories where getting to her.

Still, better safe than sorry. “Mack, don’t touch anything yet. Let me get some lights on first.”

Her daughter slipped inside, leaving her suitcase by the door. “There’s a light switch right there, momma.” The girl got on her tiptoes to better reach it, arms straining.

“That’s not what I mean, bean. We need to turn the electricity back on before those will—”

Small fingers flipped the switch and light suddenly flooded the room, emanating weakly from a dusty bulb suspended from the entryway ceiling.

“—work.” Sam finished, mouth popping open in surprise. How was there electricity? It should have shut off ages ago.

The light illuminated a small hall, small pegs sticking out from the wall to their left and a beaten rug beneath their feet. There were a few shoe racks, old boots and runners still waiting for their vanished owners to wear them again.

“Cool,” Mack bent and picked up a pair of worn red Converse, small enough to fit a child. “There’s already stuff here for us!”

Sam nodded absently, honestly slightly disturbed as she glanced around.

The entryway opened into a living space, decked out with a loveseat and ‘L’ shaped couch of faux leather. Adorning the hardwood floor was a grimy carpet, ending just in front of the inset fireplace. Above the fireplace, resting on its brick frame, was a wide oak mantel.

She moved closer, dread suddenly seeping into her stomach lining as she spotted something. Decorating it, scattered at random intervals among oddly shaped chunks of twisted metal, were picture frames.

Morbidly, she carefully examined each of them, guessing that they were the house’s previous occupants. There was one of a man and woman, him tall and wide and her trim and willowy, both decked out in skin-tight hazmat suits.

Beside that was one of a young adult girl posing in front of a row of lockers, probably some kind of yearbook photo. She was pretty in a natural sort of way; stunningly bright eyes hidden behind thick lashes and a build similar to what Sam assumed was her mother. Despite the cunning twist of her lips, the girl had a soft set to her face that made her look kind, welcoming even.

Right beside hers was a boy’s graduation photo, though going by his short stature and young features he was moving on from elementary school, not secondary. He had wild black hair that shadowed his face, almost as if he were hiding behind it. The rest of him looked fairly average, but it were his eyes that pulled her in. They would be the most beautiful one’s she’d ever seen if it weren’t for the sad droop at their corners, dark bags weighing down the skin underneath.

Now that she looked closer, she could see that, though he was smiling widely, this boy did not look at all happy. Unsettled by the way his gaze seemed to follow her, she set the frame face down on the mantel, quickly doing the same with the others.

“Ow, momma!” A voice cried out behind her and she spun quickly, her heart racing in her chest.

Mack was slowly lifting her foot off the floor by the couch, tears forming in her eyes. “I almost died!”

In full motherly panic mode, Sam flew across the living room and quickly lifted her daughter’s socked foot, “Where’d your shoes go?”

The crying girl pointed to the shoe rack where her light up Skechers now rested, “I took them off.”

“Oh,” Sam looked closer at the foot, but didn’t see any sign of injury. Heart calming, she raised an eyebrow knowingly. “What did I tell you about pretending to be hurt?”

“To not,” Mack replied sheepishly, rubbing her hands together. “But I really almost died, look,” She pointed at a large piece of jagged glass sticking up out of the carpet.

Sam made an alarmed squeaking noise and carefully picked up the glass, “Good eye, that could’ve really hurt someone.”

The girl smiled smugly, crossing her arms and putting her ‘injured’ foot down, “I’m a superhero.”

“Yes,” She absently wondered how the shard had gotten there before scooping her daughter up, carefully setting the piece of glass on the mantel with the downturned photos. “You are. Now, how about we explore some more?”

Refusing to put her daughter down for fear of more glass, Sam carried her into the kitchen, flicking on the lights and frowning when they worked. “Weird.”

“That’s weird, too.”

Sam followed to where her daughter’s finger was pointing to the counter, which was not nearly as dusty as it should’ve been. It looked like it was more just dirty than actually dusty. Which wasn’t what had caught her daughter’s eye.

For resting on the counter, in all of its glory, was an untouched peanut butter sandwich.

Her mind short circuited as she stared at the thing, not sure what to make of its existence. Was someone sneaking into the house? She’d heard of homeless people breaking into abandoned homes to sleep and stay warm, but making sandwiches?

“What are you going to do, momma?”

Sam slid a knife out from the knife box and smiled down at Mack, “How about you stay here, huh sweetie? Guard the peanut butter sandwich and I’ll be right back, okay?”

The girl slid down to the ground and sauntered over to the counter, posing with her hands on her hips in front of it, “Yes, sir! If anyone comes close, me and Professor Bazooka will chase them off.”

The sight of that bunny’s face was enough to chase anyone off, even the most hardened of criminals. Nodding, Sam waved at her before moving towards the staircase with the knife in hand.

If it was a drunk or homeless person, she was hoping the sight of the weapon would be enough to scare them off. She had no plans on actually hurting anyone with it; she was a vegetarian, for crying out loud.

If Sam remembered correctly from the photos, there were three bedrooms upstairs: the master bedroom, second bedroom, and guest bedroom.

At the top of the steps there was a bathroom, the lights off. She poked her head inside of it, glancing into all the possible hiding spots, before entering and switching on the light. It was of a simple design, the toilet across from the sink and a tub shower stuck in the far corner.

After tossing the shower curtain aside and finding nothing, she moved on to the master bedroom. It was by far the dustiest of all the rooms, actual particles floating dejectedly in the air.

The bed wasn’t even made and there where clothes tossed about, much too big to be a child’s. Feeling as though she was disturbing a grave, she quickly moved on when the room proved empty.

The next room was blindingly pink, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face at the sight of it; Mack would love it. Everything, even the flawlessly made bed, was pink. It was dirty, but nothing Sam couldn’t clean up. She’d just have to get rid of all the leftover clothes.

The image of the orange haired girl from the picture frame flashed through her mind, but she quickly shoved it away. The dead were dead, they didn’t need her sympathy.

The next door was clearly the boy’s. It looked like there had once been stickers covering it, leaving behind a sticky residue when they’d been torn off. She softly turned the door handle and peeked inside, her eyes taking a second to adjust to the sudden natural light flooding them.

There were no boards over the window, which probably explained how someone was getting in and out. Not hearing anything from inside, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and swiftly stormed inside.

There was a muffled squawking sound, like a dying bird, and a blur of motion followed by a shattering sound as something fell out of the empty air.

Brandishing the knife in what she hoped was a threatening way, she moved towards the broken object lying on the floor. It was a mug, but there was something more. Kneeling, she sniffed at the murky brown liquid lying among the shards. Herbal tea.

Peanut butter sandwiches and herbal tea. This could literally not get any weirder.

“Who’s there?” She barked, spinning on her heel until she could see the room at large. “I know you’re there!”

When no one answered she flung the closet door open, staring into its corners and narrowing her eyes at the clothes she found there.

They were large, much too large to belong to a pre-teen boy.

She was right; someone had been staying in the house, and it seemed like this room was their hideout.

How did that explain the mug, though?

Deeming the room empty, she turned back to the porcelain remains and held up the largest shard, reading the _World’s #1 sister_ monogrammed to its side.

She then glanced up at the ceiling curiously, wondering where the heck the thing had fallen from. There was nothing it could have been hanging from or resting on and the room was devoid of trespassers.

Pushing the thought aside for later consideration, she dialed nine-one-one and quickly moved back down the stairs to her daughter.

“Did you find the bad guy, momma?” Mack asked, the plate that had previously held the sandwich now empty.

“No,” She picked her up again. “Did you eat that?” She gestured at the crumb covered plate.

“It was good,” The girl rubbed her stomach. “Whoever lives here makes good sandwiches.”

“They don’t live here,” Sam snapped, holding the phone up to her ear as someone answered. “This is our house now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. That happened.
> 
> I'm back! I honestly kind of lost interest in the DP fandom for awhile, but then I saw some fanart for it and was like..... _right_ I love this fandom. So I'm back now, sorry 'bout that ;-;
> 
> Updates will be happening every Sunday. I'll do my best to remember this time!
> 
> ~ASL


	3. In Which Sam Meets Several Hunks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets Dash, Kwan, and.......Phantom??

_“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”_ The voice was calm and female, instantly soothing Sam’s riled nerves.

“Hi, we were just moving into our house and it seems like someone else is here.” Sam speed walked to the entryway, her daughter still clinging to her like a spider monkey. “Do you need the address?”

Once she’d given them the address, which the woman seemed mildly surprised over, her voice sounded from the phone again, _“Dispatch is on its way. Just to confirm, you’re really moving into Fenton Works?”_

“Yes,” Sam hissed through her teeth as she walked to the end of the driveway, setting Mack down on the grass while they waited.

 _“Oh. Uh, bye now!”_ The dial tone sounded as Sam shook her head in disbelief.

Was everyone in this town crazy?

Approximately seven minutes later, two squad cars were pulling up outside her house, their shiny exteriors making her Volkswagen look especially drab. Three men and a woman stepped out, their blue uniforms immaculate.

The tallest and largest of the them moved towards her, his large smile revealing perfect white teeth. “Are you the one who placed the call, ma’am?”

Oh no. Sam looked him and down quickly, taking in his wide chest, near-perfect face, and corn-blond hair. This guy was _hot._

As soon as she thought it, Sam was berating herself for it. She’d barely escaped her harmful, emotionally scarring marriage six months ago; she was nowhere near ready for any form of attraction

Her heart had evidently missed that memo.

Realizing that the silence had gone on for a socially unusual time, Sam quickly recalled his question and formulated a sensible answer. “Uh, Yeah.”

His eyes twinkled, their blue depths sending butterflies down her spine. This was bad. “Good, otherwise this would’ve become pretty awkward.”

She laughed softly, instantly becoming horrified with herself for doing so.

Before their impromptu staring contest could go on for any longer, someone called him, “Stop staring at her and get yourself over here, Baxter. You’re on the clock.”

The name ‘Baxter’ snapped Sam out of trance as she followed after him, “Baxter? Like Baxter Real Estate?”

“The one and only,” He winked at her, somehow making it look adorably charming instead of cocky.

Two of the officers, one of the men and the woman, had already moved inside, the door closed behind them.

The man who had called them over was only a little shorter than the blue-eyed officer, his hair black and his lips drawn into a seemingly permanent smile, “You’re the one that made the call?”

“Yes,” Sam nodded, feeling much more coherent now that Baxter wasn’t staring at her.

“My name’s Kwan Lee, and the hunk in uniform is Dash.” He extended a hand to her, which is when she noticed he wasn’t wearing the usual police blue.

“Samantha Manson, nice to meet you and all but, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here?”

His smile seemed to widen, “I figured you were a smart cookie. I’m an investigative journalist for the _Amity Gazette_ , Dash let’s me tag along sometimes.”

The blond officer folded his impressively large forearms over his chest, “Only when it’s not likely to be dangerous.”

“That still doesn’t really answer my question,” Sam placed a hand on her hip and fixed both of them with the Manson glare. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to meet the person crazy enough to buy Fenton Works.” He leaned closer, looking her up and down carefully, “Though now that I’ve met you, you don’t seem very crazy.”

“Ahem,” Dash—she still couldn’t believe that was his real name—casually pushed the journalist out of her face. “If you don’t mind me asking, could you explain the situation to me?”

“Right,” Sam glanced over her shoulder to make sure Mack was still in sight, smiling when she saw that her daughter was trying to climb a scraggly sapling. “My daughter and I just moved here from Chicago, bought the house today, and were taking a look inside when we noticed there was a sandwich on the counter.”

The blonde’s thick eyebrows drew low over his eyes, “A sandwich.”

The woman nodded, a small smile plying for control of her twitching lips, “My thoughts exactly.”

Kwan was scribbling frantically on a clipboard, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in concentration. Once he finished, he glanced back up at her, “Why’d you choose Amity Park, Minnesota, of all places?”

“I’m originally from Amity, moved when I was four.”

“Oh,” He began scribbling eagerly again. “Interesting.”

“Makes sense,” Dash drawled from her right. “No one not native to Amity would choose Amity.”

Turning the tables on their interrogation, Sam phrased a question of her own, “Do you not like it here?”

“No, I do,” The blond frowned, taking a second to collect his thoughts. “It’s just…hard to get used to them.”

“Them?”

Kwan jumped back into the conversation, apparently having finished scribing. “You know, the pests.”

She frowned, remembering the vaguely ominous words of Mrs. Baxter earlier. “What’re we talking? Rats or sewer alligators?”

“Definitely sewer alligators.” Kwan remarked slowly, an inspired gleam in his eye.

Dash smacked him in the back of the head and shot Sam an apologetic smile, which unfortunately made her heart race. “No, we’re talking ghosts.”

She laughed, long and loudly and right in their faces, before realizing they were being serious, “Oh, you’re not kidding. Okay.”

“It was pretty weird for us at first, too.” Dash tried to sympathize. “But now their kind of mainstream in Amity.”

Deciding that there must be something in this town’s water that was making them mass hallucinate, Sam quickly changed the topic. “Sooo, back to the intruders…”

“Right,” The officer straightened, giving her a concerned once over. “Were you hurt?”

“No,” She ignored the blush on her cheeks at his gaze. “I didn’t see anything, but it was weird. There was nobody in the upstairs bedroom, but a mug just, uh, fell. Like from the ceiling.”

Kwan and Dash both sent each other a look, one that Sam couldn’t even begin to interpret. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that,” Kwan shrugged, “This is kind of a paranormal hot spot. Ever since the explosion, this neighborhood experiences the most attacks.”

Maybe coming back to Amity was a horrible, horrible idea. “You mean gang attacks?”

“No,” He shook his head, black hair ruffling in the sudden wind, fully intended for dramatic effect by the author. “I mean ghost attacks.”

“Of course you do,” She said dryly, massaging her temples slowly. “How could I not see that coming.”

“You may not believe us now, but just wait a few days. I think you’ll be a firm believer by then,” Dash smirked at her, “You’ve probably already witnessed one, I’d bet on it.”

Sam was about to ask, ‘how much?’ when the other two officers exited the house, guns holstered.

“Find anything?” Kwan called excitedly, pen poised above his paper.

“Negative,” The female officer answered. “There were signs of life in every room but the master bedroom, but we’d need a full forensic sweep to ascertain whether it’s supernatural or not.”

“And we can’t bring in forensics unless anything was stolen,” Dash explained to her. “Was anything stolen?”

Sam shook her head, remembering their unopened suitcases by the front door, “Nothing. Though there’s tons of stuff still in the house, they could’ve taken something from there.”

The female officer placed her hands on her belt, “We locked the third bedroom window and are guessing that’s how they got in and out, unless of course this is a supernatural case.”

“It’s not,” Sam assured despite the gnawing doubt in the pit of her stomach. She refused to believe that a ghost had been hanging out in the abandoned house making sandwiches.

“If you feel unsafe,” The woman continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “We can provide you with a surveillance car.”

“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. It was probably just some homeless guy looking for a place to crash.” Sam glanced back around to make sure Mack was still there, “Hopefully now that they’ve seen the police here, they know I mean business.”

Kwan chuckled softly, “I told you she was a smart cookie.”

She turned back to them and found Dash’s eyes on face, an amused grin on his face. “That she most certainly is.”

She instantly felt the blood rush to her ears and dropped her gaze, fighting the smile that threatened to overcome her features.

The third office cleared his throat, “Well, if that’s all miss, we’ll be on our way.”

“Yes, of course,” Sam gave him a grateful nod. “Thank you for coming.”

The two left, leaving her, Kwan, and Dash still standing in the driveway.

“So,” Kwan ventured after a moment of silence. “Now that I’ve met the person brave enough to move into Fenton Works, we can leave.”

“I’ll see you around, then,” Sam took a step back, crossing her arms and waving half heartedly at them.

“I’m sure you have more questions though, right Kwan?” Dash asked, staring at his friend pleadingly. “Enough to warrant a meeting?”

Kwan frowned, glancing obliviously through his notes, “I don’t think so, that should be enough to—”

She saw Dash’s leg move out in a blur, connecting with the journalist’s shin.

Kwan seemed to finally understand what his friend was trying to communicate. “Ow! What was that— _Oh_.” He turned back to Sam with a smile, “I mean, would you like to meet up sometime? I’d love to learn more about the Fenton disappearance, and you are living in their house now.”

Sam’s smile was genuine this time as she took his phone and put her number in, holding her hand out to Dash next.

He simply stared at her open palm, his brain apparently dead.

“Dude,” Kwan elbowed him between the ribs. “She’s giving you her number.”

“Right!” The blond quickly unlocked his phone, “Sorry, here.”

Once they all had each others’ contacts, the two turned to head back to their car.

“Thanks again,” Sam called after them before she could stop herself.

Dash turned and gave her the biggest smile she’d ever seen, “Anytime, Sam. Oh, and if you need anything, I live three houses down the street.” He saluted sloppily before climbing into the vehicle and out of sight.

Hearing him say her name sent her blushing all over again, her mind fogging as she watched the squad car pull away.

Cursing her stupid heart and adult hormones, she shook her head and watched the sun begin to sink behind the neighboring houses.

“Momma,” Mack poked her head out from behind the tree’s trunk. “My tummy’s angry.”

The smile still not slipping off her face, she turned toward the Volkswagen and motioned for her daughter to follow, “Why don’t we go hunt for fast food in celebration of our new house?”

The girl cheered, dashing across the grass towards the car, “We need to feed Professor Bazooka too!”  
“He’s always hungry, though,” Sam griped before pulling away, both of them humming to the Dumpty Humpty blaring through the speakers.

The supposedly haunted house stood behind them, the setting sun catching the faintest movement from behind the only un-boarded window.

It looked almost as if a pale hand had pressed itself against the glass, gently ghosting its surface, but it was gone as soon as it’d come.

* * *

The sun shone in through the bedroom window right into her eyes, scorching them to oblivion as she cursed the ball in the sky with reckless abandon.

She’d had to sleep in the bedroom with the un-boarded window because of all the dust in the master bedroom. Whoever had been staying at Fenton Works had completely avoided that single room in the house, which Sam thought was more than a little odd.

It was because of the un-boarded, curtain-less window that the vile sunlight was now filtering in through the glass unheeded. She resisted the urge to swear, having stopped doing so when Mack was born.

It’s not that she thought cursing was _bad_ , per se, it was more that she wasn’t comfortable with her eight-year-old dropping the f-bomb.

Deciding that there was no way she could continue to sleep with this absurd amount of brightness, she rolled over and blinked the sleep out of her eyes, smiling at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.

Obviously the Fenton boy had had a thing for space when he was alive; there were NASA merch and model rockets covering every inch of his room. Posters on the walls, a laminated diagram of the galaxy, and a bookshelf stuffed to the brim with National Geographic Space Editions.

The smile slipped from her lips as she recalled that this boy was gone, all his passion for the night sky wiped from existence.

The thought was enough to prompt her out from beneath the strangely clean, space themed covers. She zipped open her suitcase and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the clothes she’d already worn. They didn’t stink and technically weren’t even dirty, but Sam Manson was a big believer in hygiene.

Sighing, she pulled the same sweater over her head from yesterday, ignoring the dark wash jeans. Pajama pants would do fine for now.

She peeked into the next-door room, relieved to see that Mack was still snoozing; nothing but a small lump in a sea of pink blankets.

That gave her a head start on breakfast.

After their trip to the Nasty Burger the night before—a vegetarian’s nightmare—she’d stopped at the local grocery store and bought a few days’ supply of food. Mack didn’t take after her mother in ideals and was a veritable carnivore, which is why Sam removed a pack of bacon from the fridge and began to fry it.

The meaty smell made her feel sick, but picturing Mack’s content face when she ate it made the stench worthwhile.

Next was the batter for pancakes, which she quickly whipped up and started in another strangely clean pan.

While they cooked, she set about stripping the kitchen. There was a broom closet attached to the room chock full of untouched, though quite old, cleaning supplies.

Setting to work, she dusted and sprayed every nook and corner of the kitchen, pausing every once in awhile to tend to the cooking food.

By the time she was done, so were the pancakes, and, after going on a mad hunt for plates, she finally managed to find a wealth of dishes in a corner cabinet.

Just as she was preparing the freshly clean table for two, Mack came bouncing downstairs in the same outfit as yesterday, “Good morning, momma!” She plunked down at the table as if doing so had been routine for years. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes,” She set the heaping plate of them down on the table, not disappointed by her daughter’s exuberant smile.

“Can Professor Bazooka eat, too?”

Sighing, Sam nodded her head, “Of course he can.”

Once Sam was finished and Mack’s plate licked clean of leftover syrup, they did up the dishes and headed out the door to the Amity Mall.

Since it was a Saturday the place was teeming with people, both old and young, as they perused the storefronts.

First, they headed to a department store, amassing a large stock of cleaning supplies and rags, before purchasing a new wardrobe for the both of them.

Only when their stomachs began to rumble and Sam realized it was past noon did they stop and eat, Sam getting a bean enchilada and Mack the meat-a-dore burger combo.

Time flew by at the mall as they shopped for pillows, sheets, and paint, stopping whenever something caught their eye.

It wasn’t until they were standing in a candle store, Sam stopping to smell each one, that the trouble started.

Mack had wandered to the other end of the shop, bored out of her mind while her mother scent tested, and pressed her nose to the storefronts glass display window to watch the people go by. While watching, she spotted a glowing, striped tail sticking out of one of the food court trash cans.

Her little blue eyes widened and, completely forgetting her mother’s warning to stay put, she took off towards the unsuspecting critter.

The tail swayed back and forth in front of her, proving to be too much temptation for the young girl. Her small hands reached out and stroked it, a giggle slipping out between her lips as the soft fur glowed even brighter at her touch.

“Hello little friend, what’s your name?” She asked curiously as the racoon began to hiss, its head raising out of the reeking depths. “You’re so soft!”

Someone behind her screamed, the sound piercing and decidedly feminine. Taken by surprise Mack’s head slowly swiveled upwards to look at the now growling animal.

It was definitely not a racoon.

For starters, there was the glowing. Mack was no zoologist, but even her developing eight-year-old brain knew that racoons didn’t glow lime green. She also knew that they had one head; this animal had six.

Twelve flaming crimson eyes narrowed at her as the creature began to growl louder, the fur on its neck beginning to rise as its back arched.

“Y-you’re not a racoon!” She stumbled back, unable to take her eyes off the animal as it—they?—opened its mouths and moved towards her, saliva dribbling onto scuffed tiles.

Pandemonium had erupted all around her; grown ups running and screaming. The chaos only served to rile the racoon creature up more as it lashed its tail, six deafening roars echoing throughout the mall.

Twin tears tracking down her face, Mack turned to run only to have the thing knock her down from behind, its large paws pinning her in place.

“Help!” She screeched at the fleeing adults, “Momma!” The girl started to cry as the heads moved closer, the liquid from its mouth leaking out onto her second favourite shirt.

Making a tiny fist like she’d seen the superheroes on television do, she hit the terrifying creature in the chest with all her might.

It didn’t even notice.

Where were the heroes? If there was a strange, glowing _thing_ attacking someone they were supposed to come, right? More tears dripped down her face as she sobbed, her screams picking up again.

Where was Superwoman and Spiderman? They were her favourites, so why weren’t they coming?

A cry that wasn’t her own rent the air, a very familiar cry, “That’s my daughter! Mack! Mackenzie!”

“Momma!” She tried to twist her head around so she could see her mother, but the creature pushed her back to the floor

It seemed bigger now, almost double the size it’d been earlier.

“What is that thing?!” She heard her mother yell at the frantic crowd of shoppers. “What the bloody hell is it?”

No one answered, though apparently someone was stopping her from running towards her daughter.

“Miss, it’ll kill you. We have to wait for Phantom, he’ll stop it.”

“No! Let me _go_! I’m not waiting for some stupid—” Whatever her mother had been about to say was cut off by the creature’s sudden roar, much louder now that the thing was towering above the store fronts, a single paw keeping Mack pinned on her back. It was definitely growing.

One of its heads bent down, glowing forked tongue slipping between its sharp teeth as its mouth opened, stretching wide enough to swallow her whole.

“Help,” She whispered softly, closing her eyes as she felt the wet, slimy tongue caress her face. “Please help me.”

Then the weight was suddenly off her, the paw that had been keeping her down gone before she even had time to open her eyes again.

The spectator’s cheers were almost as deafening as the monster’s roars, their clapping making her head spin.

Slowly, she opened one eye and saw a black and white figure holding the offending head back. One of his gloved hands rested on the creature’s lower jaw while the other on the roof of its mouth, pulling them apart as he stared down at her.

Despite the huge monster he was restraining, his body trembling with the exertion of keeping it off her, there was a genuine smile on his face.

“You gonna be okay?” His voice wasn’t deep like the hero’s on TV, but neither was it particularly high.

Her eyes widened as she saw the symbol on his chest, a star struck look taking over her entire face. There was no doubt about it; this man was a superhero. A real live superhero.

She nodded up and down, still too in awe to speak.

Something seemed to relax in the way he was holding himself, like the smile had just been an act. “Thank goodness,” It was so quite that Mack thought she’d imagined it. “Alrighty then,” His voice echoed throughout the mall, causing the crowd to cheer even louder. “Let’s take out this piece of trash!”

* * *

Sam watched as the creature’s head moved closer to her only daughter, its tongue lowering towards her face.

Frantic, fully believing she was about to watch her child, the person most precious to her in all the world, get torn apart by a mutant racoon, she bit into the man’s arm and pushed away from him.

Pushing aside the guilt she felt when he cried out, for he was really just trying to be helpful, she hurried towards Mack fast as her legs would carry her.

There was no way she could get there in time. She was about to watch her daughter get eaten, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Something suddenly whooshed by her face, ruffling her hair with the speed at which it was traveling.

For a second, time seemed to slow and she turned her head, eyes widening when she saw a man seemingly suspended in the air right next to her head. He was wearing a form-fit black and white jumpsuit, one gloved fist extended as he rocketed forward.

His hair was a startling shade of white and his desperate, haunted eyes an ethereal green. He looked terrified; his features arranged exactly as hers had probably been mere milliseconds ago.

And then he was out of sight, zooming towards her daughter as if there weren’t a giant monster pinning the girl down.

Her legs felt like Jell-O as she watched him hold the creature’s toothy maw open, bracing his hands on either side as he kept them from snapping shut on Mack.

He then said something to the girl, their exchange lasting less than a minute, but the relief in his eyes was unmistakable. Turning back to the giant racoon, a large smile on his face, his voice resonated around them,

“Let’s take out this piece of trash!” And then he pushed the monstrous head back, flying with practiced ease around its many heads and effectively distracting it.

The wild cheering that followed after his comment went ignored by Sam as she raced towards her downed daughter, tears spilling down her pale cheeks as she knelt next to her. “Bean? Bean, are you okay?” She felt the girl’s small chest for signs of bleeding. “Say something, Mack.”

The girl sprang up into a sitting position, a huge smile splitting her face. “He’s my new favourite superhero!”

Sam’s laugh turned into a sob as she held her daughter to her, practically squeezing the life out of her, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Mack patted her mother’s black hair with a teary smile. “But we should probably go away from the bad racoon.”

“You are absolutely right, bean.” Sam held her tight against her chest and picked her up, quickly retreating behind the crowd.

No one seemed worried over their wellbeing as they watched the man zip around the creature’s heads, looking like a fly in comparison with the racoon’s giganticness.

“Who’s that?” She asked one of the spectators, a woman who was casually holding a baby in her arms.

“You must be new in town,” The mother replied patiently. “That’s Phantom, he’s our hero.”

“He’s nothing but ghost scum!” Another woman, this one sporting an alarming amount of grey hair, shook her fist at the flying man’s form. “He should be put down like the rest of them.”

“He’s a hero!” The woman holding the baby shot back, various members of the crowd joining in to voice their opinions.

“Menace!’

“Hero!”

“Menace!”

“Hero!”

She turned back towards the battle raging above them, watching with a slack jaw as he fired some kind of green laser out of his hand.

This seemed to annoy the creature, like the man was nothing but a pesky mosquito, and it blew a fiery breath at him, sending his black-and-white figure hurtling towards the ground.

There was a smash as he collided with the tile, almost in the exact spot where Mack had been pinned. Chunks of debris flew through the air as he sat there, clearly in a daze, “S-sorry!” He called out, flying up out of the hole he’d just pounded into the mall. “My bad!”

The creature was bearing down on him again, apparently trying to take advantage of his wobbliness.

“Not today, you’ve scavenged your last garbage can!” He dodged a paw swipe and stream of raging fire before flying above the animal, his hands beginning to grow a brilliant blue as the temperature in the mall began to drop.

Sam’s breath escaped her mouth in a condensed cloud and she pulled Mack closer, wrapping her arms securely around the now shivering girl.

Just when she thought they were going to end up with frostbite, this ‘Phantom’ put his hands together and shot a concentrated beam of ice at the first head, quickly doing the same to the remaining five.

Ice encased them as they stood, frozen, their raging eyes flickering back and forth beneath their blue-tinted prison.

“That should be enough,” The floating man pulled a large steel object that closely resembled a soup thermos out of his jumpsuit and popped off the lid, aiming it at the trapped monster. “Nighty night, trash panda.”

With a click of a button, a swirling blue light shot out of the contraption and surrounded the creature, sucking it back inside with a _schloop_.

Placing the lid back on, the jump suited man flew back above the crowd, his glowing green eyes giving each of them a careful once over.

Sam wondered if it was her imagination when his burning gaze seemed to linger on her longer than the rest, a strange look of relief overwhelming his blinding smile.

“We all okay?” His voice had an odd echo to it, as if he were standing at the front of a lecture hall. “No one hurt?”

“We love you Phantom!” A few girls screamed from the side, shaking their heads of bleach-white hair excitedly.

The same elderly woman from earlier pushed her way to the front, “Go back to Hell, ghost!”

He didn’t seem at all disturbed by their cries, almost as if this were an average interaction with the Amity populace. “Sorry about the broken floor, mall security guy.”

A man wearing a black vest and an earpiece shrugged in a _what’re you going to do?_ kind of way. Evidently this was average.

Mack climbed up onto her shoulders like a monkey, yanking on Sam’s hair as she struggled to maintain her balance, “Thank you, Mr. Phantom Man!” She shouted, her voice barely audible above the roaring crowd.

Phantom, however, seemed to have above average hearing; his head swiveled in her direction as he waved bashfully, an embarrassed green flush spreading across his cheeks. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light.

His toxic eyes, for that was the only word Sam could find in her vocabulary to describe their dangerous vibrancy, fixed on her violet ones. It was like an odd chill wafted up her body, settling in her soul.

Then he was gone, vanishing into thin air.

As soon as he disappeared the crowd quieted, instantly going back to their daily lives as if a giant, glowing racoon hadn’t attacked.

Quickly deciding that they’d done enough shopping for the day, the two headed home, both silently thanking their jump-suited hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> (PS, this is not a Sam x Dash fic, don't worry;)
> 
> ~ASL


	4. In Which Tucker Pulls An Accidental Romeo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Tucker. Angst.
> 
> That's it; that's the chapter.

Sam had just finished putting Mack to bed the following night, hugging her for a couple minutes longer than necessary, when her phone suddenly pinged.

Her legs seized at the sound, her entire body freezing up in the doorway of the upstairs bathroom as cold dread seeped into her stomach.

Maybe he’d found them, maybe he was already on his way here. There could be a video of them up on the web, a video of Mack almost _dying_ … If he saw that….

She shook her head, quickly reminding herself that there was no reason to fear him anymore; he was out of her life for good.

Steadying her breathing and holding a hand to her racing heart, she fished her phone out of her pocket and dared to look at the screen.

One notification from Dash Baxter.

“Ohthankgoodness,” She let out in a relieved breath, sinking against the open door and holding a trembling hand to her mouth.

Part of her recognized that this was ridiculous, a completely irrational reaction to an issue long resolved, but her heart wasn’t with the program.

A cold rush of wind, as if someone were slipping by her, rubbed against her face. Startled, she sat up, glancing with narrowed eyes around the bathroom. It was empty.

Shrugging it off, she did her nightly routine and checked in on Mack one more time, breathing out a sigh of relief as she saw the girl’s chest rising and falling peacefully.

“I love you, bean,” She murmured softly, planting a kiss on the sleeping girl’s forehead. Trudging back to her room, she fell facedown in the bed with a grunt.

Sam had planned on processing the events of the day, going through each one and filing them carefully away, but she found her eyes slipping closed against her will.

Before she knew it, she was asleep.

* * *

_Thump._

Sam sat up groggily, her sleepy nerves still tense from their encounter at the mall. Blinking awake, she pulled the covers up around her chin and tried to figure out where the sound was coming from.

_Thump._

“Hello?” She called out into the silence. It wasn’t coming from Mack’s room, or her open door…

_Thump. Thump._

It was the window. Someone was throwing something at her window.

Groaning in frustration, she quickly hopped off the bed and flicked on the lights. Fearing it was another creature—she still wasn’t entirely too sure they were actual ghosts—she hesitantly approached the frame and glared out into the darkness.

Something collided with the window again and Sam felt her thin thread of composure snap. She slid the window open and leaned out into the open air, eyes searching for the trespasser.

“Jeez!” A voice called out from below. “Took you long enough; I’m freezing down here.” A decidedly masculine figure stepped into view, the light streaming down from the window revealing a semi-tall man wearing a mustard coloured pullover, cargo pants, and thick-rimmed glasses.

He shielded his eyes with a brown hand as he stared up at her, “Well, fly me up already! It looked like you took quite a hit earlier.” He brandished a first aid kit, “I brought the goods!”

 _Fly them…up?_ Sam was one hundred percent certain she had never seen this man in her life. “Who are you?”

The white box fell to the ground, spilling its contents into the lawn’s tangled grass. “Who am _I?_ ” He retorted, his voice cracking, “Who the heck are _you?_ ”

“I live here.”

Her statement seemed to cause him even more confusion, his thick black brows lowering over his eyes, “No, you don’t.”

Sam groaned, “You must have the wrong second story window, ‘cause I just bought this house today.”

“Oh,” He fidgeted nervously, bending to scoop the dropped supplies up off the ground. “Well that explains it. There doesn’t happen to be, uh, anyone else in there with you, right?”

That was a stalker-ish sentiment if ever she’d heard one. “Yes, there is.”

The man’s head swiveled back up towards her, “Like, do you know them?”

“Yes,” She replied shortly. She was beginning to suspect that this stranger was another homeless person, possibly in cahoots with the one who’d been staying here before. That explained the weird questions and crackhead vibe.

“Um, I must’ve gotten the wrong backyard, I guess.” He adjusted the beanie on his head and snapped the first aid kit shut. “Sorry for throwing rocks at your window.”

“Seriously?” She raised her head to carefully examine the glass for scuff marks; there was no way she could afford to install a new window, let along get the glass fixed. “You could’ve just knocked. Or were you trying to romance someone?”

“No!” His voice cracked on the single syllable, “It was an honest mistake, really. I’ll pay for the window if it’s broken.”

“It’s fine,” She sighed, wishing she was okay with lying. Could’ve gotten a couple hundred bucks for ‘broken glass’. “Just get off my property before I call the police.”

“Not a problem at all, look at me getting off your grass and HEADING TO THE NASTY BURGER! I’LL HAVE BANDAGES!” He cleared his throat, casually dusting of his hands as if he hadn’t just screamed at empty air. “I’ll be going now.”

She slammed the window down, locking it for good measure as she watched him make his way towards the street.

Moaning, she rested her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes.

This city was full of crazy people.

* * *

DANNY: The Day Before

Danny had been having a fantastic morning. Note the past tense.

He’d woken up bright and early, the glow in the dark stars on his bedroom ceiling fading in the morning light. Sitting up, he’d popped off the bed and started his morning routine.

Once that was out of the way, he slid down the stairway banister and tucked into a neat roll, somersaulting into the kitchen. That, too, was part of his morning routine.

The kitchen was essentially empty; Tucker’s last grocery run being about a week ago. Sighing, he snagged the lonely piece of fruit from the bowl and decided to forgo the stairs, instead phasing back into his room through the ceiling.

Pulling out his laptop from its place under the bed, he checked in for his online accounting job (his pseudonym being Daniel James) and started cracking numbers.

It was a far cry from his dream of space travel, but it payed the bills and kept him from starving.

At noon he rolled his stiff shoulders and returned to the kitchen, taking out a plate and the materials necessary for a simple PB and J. He ate a lot of that nowadays; honestly at this point he was surprised he was still even half-alive. His meal choices were getting increasingly haphazard.

Turning on the kettle as he hummed to himself in the silence, he spun around the kitchen towards the shelf that held the dish soap. Plunging his hands into the sink, he scrubbed away at his week’s worth supply of dirty utensils, stacking them back into their various cupboards once they were dry.

The water soon boiled and he poured it out into his favourite mug, smile fading somewhat as he ran a finger over its raised lettering.

Shaking his head, he plopped a tea bag into the steaming liquid and suddenly decided that the house was too quiet. Mug in hand, he trotted up the stairs—pointedly ignoring the closed master bedroom at the top—and shoved his door open with his hip, rifling through his dresser drawers for the Bluetooth speaker Tucker had gotten him for Christmas.

He still harboured a special kind of hate for the holiday but had to admit; the season had its merits.

It took him longer than he’d expected to find the darn thing, a victorious “Aha!” pushing past his lips when he finally did. Pulling it out of his sock drawer, he set it down and moved to the middle of his room, scanning the floor for his phone.

Had he not been so preoccupied, he might’ve noticed the faint footsteps on the stairs.

He was, however, very preoccupied.

Taking a sip from his mug, he was just about to re-check under his bed when his own door suddenly flew open.

Letting out a very dignified and manly sound of surprise, he whipped around, barely registering that there was a knife-wielding mad-woman in his room before he flickered invisible.

The mug, his favourite, precious, _precious_ mug, fell out of his intangible hands and crashed against his floorboards.

The woman was of average height with obsidian shoulder length hair, the top of which was tied back out of her face. She wore a dark, aesthetically baggy sweater and black denim jeans, revealing a lean figure.

Had she not been wielding one of his largest bread knives Danny might’ve even considered her pretty in an exotic, threatening sort of way.

She spun around again, still bent in a clumsy defensive position. “Who’s there?” Her voice was thick, like she’d just smoked a pack of cigarettes. Though he got the distinct impression that she didn’t smoke. “I know you’re there!”

He winced, quickly glancing down to make sure that he really was invisible.

The trespasser continued to search his room, flinging open his closet and going so far as to glance under the bed.

Danny, however, wasn’t paying much attention. He was much more concerned with the fact that she was in his house. No one but Tucker had stepped foot in Fenton Works since he’d originally started ‘haunting’ it. He’d made sure of that.

The sound of a dial tone snapped the halfa out of his thoughts; if she called the cops and they found his prints…he didn’t think he would be on their file but what if—

No. He breathed in through his nose and held for the count of seven before exhaling, focusing on the way his chest expanded and fell.

When he was significantly calmer, the spiralling edge of his panic fended off for at least a while longer, he phased through the floor and into the kitchen.

It was empty, his lunch gone.

“Cold hearted,” He muttered softly, poking at the empty plate. “They’d even part a man from his sandwich.”

Bereft of his lunch, he wandered through the familiar hallway towards the front door and poked his head through it, squinting as raw sunlight filled his vision.

A very, _very_ familiar voice hit his ears and he stumbled back, phasing into the house with his heart stammering in his chest.

Dash. Dash Baxter was on his lawn.

Grunting, he clutched at his frayed plaid shirt, trying to once again calm his racing mind. The raven-haired man carefully felt his eye, as if unconsciously reassuring himself that it wasn’t bruised.

He’d purposefully avoided Dash whenever he went ghost fighting or flying, all because he knew it would affect him like this.

 _Shoot_. Footsteps were approaching the door and he was in no state to come face to face with anybody, least of all Dash.

Bracing his legs against the entry rug, he shot up through the ceiling and into the sky, heaving in a massive amount of the crystalline air above.

Looking down, he could just barely make out the tiny, doll like figures on the grass below.

And then he was flying, rising higher than even the birds didn’t dare venture. Keeping his eyes on the clouds, he tried not to focus on the fact that he was running; escaping.

Again.

* * *

At about six hundred and sixty kilometres up, Danny realized he was being ridiculous.

He was a half ghost vigilante who’d faced much worse than _bullying_. His behaviour was complete and utter foolishness.

Which is what he told himself, despite the trembling of his still-clenched fists.

Breathing harshly through his nose, he had to remind himself that he was a _hero_. Killing Dash would not only be completely against his morals, but also attract unneeded attention to Fenton Works.

Deciding that the blond idiot was probably gone now, he angled himself back towards the ground, tucking his arms flush against his sides and turning himself intangible.

With zero wind resistance as he plummeted down to Earth, Danny let a genuine smile slip onto his face for the first time in too long. Flying was the one thing he knew he was good at; the one thing in his life that was well and truly his.

Fenton Works quickly came into view, tripling in size as he dropped closer and closer to the red-pink brick.

Just before he reached it, he pulled out of his dive and completed what would have been a stomach-roiling loop if not for his acclimation to it. Letting out a soft whoop, he gave the sky one last parting glance before phasing inside.

It seemed empty; his sense not picking up on any living—or undead—organisms. Perfect.

The smile his flight had brought on still intact, he dropped his invisibility and trotted over to his window, pressing his hand to the cool glass, his ice core thrumming happily at the chill.

His smile drooped, however, when he spotted a beaten Volkswagen idling at the end of his driveway.

The crazy-knife-wielding-trespasser was lowering herself into the front seat of the rickety vehicle, a small child climbing into the back.

The woman looked to be around in her late twenties, some traitorous part of Danny’s mind noting they were probably almost the same age. The girl, likely her daughter, looked to be about seven or eight.

Maybe nine? He honestly wasn’t sure what sizes children came in nowadays.

As they were about to pull away, the woman glanced up at the house, dark hair framing her face. The watching spectre sucked in a breath and ducked low beneath the window, eyes wide as he prayed that she hadn’t seen him.

Once the sputtering of their car was no longer audible to his heightened hearing, he sagged against the floor. Hopefully, they’d been thoroughly spooked off; others had gone running over much less.

He was about to head down and scavenge for another lunch when a puff of condensation slipped from between his closed mouth, hovering in front of his face as a crude reminder.

“Seriously?” He smacked a palm against his forehead phased through the wall behind him, rolling his eyes. “Can’t a guy catch a break?” His sense was pinging this one as a mid four or low five.

Just his luck.

* * *

Danny had just phased through into the Amity Mall, the source of the disturbance, when he heard frantic protests.

Rounding a bend, the origin of the screams became clear.

A familiar black-haired woman had just broken out of someone’s grip, racing towards a giant, towering…racoon.

Not what Danny had been expecting, but he’d learned to roll with the wackiness this town was always throwing him.

It had six heads, one of which was bending down towards—

He flew forward so fast he was pretty sure the sound barrier was broken, dodging around the woman as she desperately hurried towards what Danny assumed was her daughter. Even if she somehow managed to get there in time, there would be nothing she could do.

Fortunately for the young girl about to become mammal food, Danny was a little faster. Planting his boots firmly on the ground, he seized the creature’s jaws and craned them apart, his body trembling with the effort.

No one was dying on his watch.

After making sure the girl was alright, he went about taking the ghost down, trying to tune out the screeching of the crowd behind him. The creature only got one good hit in before he fired up his core, coating its six heads in thick layers of shimmering blue ice.

After it was safely in the Thermos, he let out a relieved breath and hovered above the crowd, making sure they were all unharmed. As he was about to turn invisible, a single voice caught his attention from the chaos below,

“Thank you, Mr. Phantom Man!”

It was the little girl he’d just rescued, her long raven hair a tangled mess.

He gave a small smile and that’s when he saw them, brilliant purple irises. They belonged to the knife-woman, the girl perched precariously on her shoulders.

She was staring up at him, those eyes burrowing into his very being. They weren’t dark, nor particularly light, but a soft, in between lavender. For lack of a better word; they were stunning.

A shudder ran through his body and he quickly turned himself invisible to conceal it, floating above the crowd as he watched the woman’s gaze drop.

Finding his mouth hanging open, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, he closed it with a loud click.   
Shoving whatever the heck had just happened to the back of his mind, he quickly flew out of the mall, feeling as though those strange eyes were still trailing after him.

* * *

After stopping a few more ghostly threats, all low-level animal types, he returned to Fenton Works and phased into the basement.

The lab was locked from the inside so that only he, or another ghost, would be able to enter. Other than his almost daily emptying of the thermos Danny avoided the basement like a plague; thick layers of dust coating every available surface.

Floating over the rubble, he pressed the button that opened the portal, its huge doors sliding open to reveal an otherworldly glow. Taking the cap off, he expelled the ghosts silently back inside.

As soon as he was finished, he closed up the portal to prevent anything exiting and headed back upstairs. An ice-cold shower would feel absolutely incredible on his bruised back.

Keeping intangible, he entered the bathroom through the floor and settled on the tile. In human form, he put his back to the mirror and twisted his neck so he could see the chartreuse skin there.

The bruising wasn’t too bad, definitely not the worst he’d ever gotten. Deciding it would heal on his own, he was just about to twist the shower knob when the bathroom door opened with a _click_.

On pure reflex he blinked out of visibility, getting into a crouch as he stared at the offending shadow.

It was the woman. The crazy purple eyed one.

Supressing a groan, he pressed himself against the wall as he watched her stare down at her phone.

Her emotions suddenly spiked, coursing through the air towards him so fast and unexpectedly that he almost gagged.

Massaging his temples, he tried not to make a sound as he blocked them out.

Ghosts, despite what the Amity media seemed to believe, where extremely emotional beings. There were extremes like Spectra, who preyed on negative emotion: or Ember, who soaked up adoration. Most, however, simply unconsciously felt them, leaving no trace or affect on the source.

Danny, in all cases, was different. On top of having a front row seat to random, often impossible to understand feelings, he also had his own very human ones to worry about. Which made him extra susceptible to whatever the person closest to him might be feeling.

Squeezing his arm hard enough to bruise, he clenched his eyes shut and breathed in through his mouth, trying to block the indescribable waves emanating off the woman.

“Ohthankgoodness,” She suddenly breathed out, the words barely audible despite the bathroom’s stillness. The fear—for that’s what Danny finally decided it had to be—didn’t cease, but it did slow.

Much more put together now, he glanced up at her, wondering what was on that little device of hers to trigger such a powerful reaction, when he paled.

There were tears in her eyes, gleaming in the soft light from the hallway and pooling delicately on her lashes.

Without realizing it, he took a step towards her, his hand bridging the space between them before he swiftly pulled back, berating himself.

How would she react to some creep touching her in a dark room? Not only would it give him away, it would probably also scar her for the remainder of her days.

He looked at her again and saw that, though the tears were still there, the woman didn’t let them fall. Her breathing was still erratic, but he could hear her heartbeat beginning to plateau.

Flushing suddenly, it struck him that he was snooping on a very private, personal moment that he had no right to be watching. Feeling the embarrassed and slightly ashamed heat on his neck and ears, he floated over her head and around the corner towards his room.

“Jeez,” He whispered softy to himself as he opened his door. He dropped his intangibility and promptly tripped over a large, black rectangular object that had _not_ been there this morning. “What the…”

Bending down, he lit a tiny ecto-ball in his hands to make out the form of a—

“Oh, no no no no no,” He stumbled back against the door, pressing a hand against his mouth to keep from making a sound.

The object was a suitcase.

He hadn’t chased her away, they’d just gone to the mall for the afternoon. And now they were back, moving into his house.

Fear coursed through his entire, growing when he heard his own door handle turning.

She’d taken over his house, his _room_. His only sacred space left on the planet and she was _moving into it_.

For the second time that day he had to remind himself to calm down, phasing out of his own room like he was the one who shouldn’t be there.

A soft glow spilled into the hallway from Jazz’s room, likely from a simple night light.

Confusion struck him again as a memory of his sister’s old ladybug light surfaced, dredging up memories of all their late nights and early mornings together.

Stumbling, the fabric of his shirt balled into a fist, he didn’t even realize he was going intangible until he sat on the roof, the gritty feel of the shingle grounding him.

Closing his eyes, he wrapped his arms tightly around his knees and pulled them to his chest. He felt like a weak child, running; escaping, at the first sign of danger.

All. Over. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the chapters are so much longer, editing them is so _boring_. Hopefully there's no crazy mistakes!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and have a great week!!!
> 
> ~ASL


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